


Carrion

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Discussion of Death, M/M, No Actual Character Death, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9396557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: “Don’t fall in love with a dead man,” is what his mother tells him.It takes Draco a long time to figure out what she means.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't get the idea out of my head, so here we are. i didn't tag for it, but there are themes of mental health issues throughout. 
> 
> hopefully you like it!

**i.**

Draco is sixteen years old and scared beyond even his own comprehension.

His back is pressed to the stone wall, his professor’s arm holding him in place. It should only add to his fear, he thinks. It doesn’t.

“I swore to protect you,” Snape is saying. “I made the unbreakable vow.”

Draco’s eyes widen infinitesimally at the words, his mouth parting. He thinks he misheard, he _must_ have misheard. There was no way that the other man had… He looks at Snape’s face, as if it holds all the answers he’s looking for, as if it’ll suddenly make everything make sense again.

He wants desperately for things to make sense.

“You’re afraid, Draco,” Snape continues, and his voice is so soft, so low. It washes over Draco’s body like a gentle caress, brings forth the emotion he’s been trying to bury for weeks. “You try to conceal it, but it’s obvious. Let me assist you.”

Draco breathes deeply, trying to conceal how much he wants to agree. He’s tired. So, _so,_ tired. But the consequences of accepting his help…

“I can’t,” he says, voice holding none of its earlier malice.

Snape sighs.

 

**ii.**

Draco is seventeen years old and still terrified, though he thinks he’s getting better at managing it.

“We go back tonight,” Snape tells him, and Draco nods.

He wishes they didn’t have to; that he and Severus could stay in their little abandoned hut, hidden away from most of the civilised world. The professor’s company wasn’t so bad, once you got past the outer layer of distaste. 

Draco was growing rather fond of him, even.

“I’ll go and pack,” he says.

 

**iii.**

Draco is eighteen years old and more intoxicated than he has been in his whole life.

It’s both pleasant and unpleasant. The alcohol burns his throat when he swallows it down, but the lightheaded, floaty feeling it causes makes it worthwhile.

They’re celebrating. Something to do with the French ministry. Draco hadn’t listened very hard, his attention instead focused on the familiar figure in the corner of the room. He rarely saw Severus, now that he was out of school, and he had missed him, if he were to be perfectly honest.

The lounge he rests on dips, and Draco turns to see his mother. She’s smiling at him knowingly, her blue eyes sparkling in a way they hadn’t in years. Anyone else would think she looked beautiful – and she does – but Draco can make out the traces of exhaustion that line her face.

She leans towards him, so that their faces are close together. “Don’t fall in love with a dead man,” Narcissa whispers, like it’s a secret. Her voice is gentle as a hand reaches to grab his chin; the pad of her thumb ghosting over his cheek.

Draco’s brow furrows. He doesn’t quite understand what she means, but she’s gone before he gets the chance to ask. He watches her retreating back and takes another sip of his drink.

And then he stands, moving to the man in the corner.

 

**iv.**

Draco is nineteen years old and panicking.

Blood is everywhere. It coats their clothes, his hands, the floor. It dribbles from Severus’ mouth as the man tries to guide him on what to do, makes him choke.

Draco’s hands shake as he mutters the healing spell, the words tumbling from his lips over and over while panic creeps through every fibre of his being. It’s hours before the other man is stable, before Draco can slump back against the cool floor and breathe deeply; his head pressed to the wall as his eyes shut with relief.

Whatever favour they had gained after Dumbledore’s death has slowly disappeared, and it puts them both at a great danger. It’s only a matter of time before the Dark Lord has enough of them.

A touch to his hand makes his eyes snap open, and, as Severus’ fingers intertwine with his own, Draco thinks he’s starting to understand what his mother meant.

 

**v.**

Draco is twenty years old and still scared, though right now it’s an exciting kind of terrified. The kind that sets every single one of his nerves on fire and makes him feel _alive_.

Severus is kissing him. Finally, _finally_ kissing him. Their bodies move together, pushing and pulling and holding on for dear life. Clothes fall to the floor, the thud of shoes and fabric hitting stone joining their sighs, their moans.

Lying on the bed, Draco can’t think of anything but the body above his own.

It’s a beautiful kind of bliss.

 

**vi.**

Draco is twenty one years old and in love.

It’d taken him a long time to figure out that that was what it was, but he’s accepted his doom now. For the most part.

He turns his head to look at the man who holds his heart. Severus sits on the edge of their shared bed, bare back to Draco, a white sheet pooling around his waist. He’s smoking, small coils of smoke floating in the air above them. Draco turns on his side to watch, half asleep in his post-sex haze.

He knows the other man has to leave soon. Another dangerous mission, one Draco hadn’t been asked to go on. Worry nags at him. Severus had been slow with him tonight; gentle. Loving. It wasn’t unusual, but it did tend to mean _something_ was coming.

Unable to keep the question to himself, Draco asks, “You don’t think you’ll make this out alive, do you?”

It’s not so much a question as a statement.

Severus takes another drag, tilting his head back and blowing the smoke out above them. After a quiet moment, he turns to look at Draco. His facial expression is almost sad.

“I never expected to make it this far,” he says. He keeps his voice quiet; neutral. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Draco’s jaw clenches. He can’t help but be a little angry – not necessarily at Severus, but at everything.

“If you know…” he starts, cutting himself off with a shake of his head. “Why not try and prevent it?”

Severus smiles at him now, albeit sadly. “I’ve never had much of a reason to want to,” he says.  He’s almost too calm about the conversation.

Draco quiets, swallowing audibly and thinking the words over as Snape takes another drag. A long moment passes, and neither of them say a thing. Severus lets the ash of the cigarette fall to the floor.

“And now?”

Severus looks away, finishing the last of the smoke before letting it drop to the ashtray that rests on the bedside table. “You’re reason enough,” he murmurs, voice barely audible. As if speaking too loudly will break the atmosphere.

Draco stares at him, face contorted in a look of surprise before his lips twitch. “Did you just say I gave you a will to live?” he asks, his smile evident in his tone.

Severus rolls his eyes and lets out a long suffering sigh as he gets back under the covers. He mirrors Draco’s position, propping himself up by his elbow and looking down at the younger man. “Don’t get a big head,” he jokes, the need to lighten the mood too irresistible. “Or, bigger than what you’ve already got.”

Draco gets the hint and grins at him. A breathy, almost-laugh escaped him when he responds, “And you say you aren’t a romantic.”

 

**vii.**

Draco is twenty-two years old, and free.

The war had ended with Voldemort’s death. He no longer has to worry about the state of his family, or the threat of torture if he so much as stepped a foot out of line. He no longer has to stay awake at night, tossing and turning while he wonders if the empty space of his bed will ever be filled again.

The feeling is almost foreign.

“Thank you,” he mutters to Potter, after signing the last of his release papers. Harry smiles before leaving him be.

“Ready?” a familiar voice asks, and Draco grins as his lover comes into view.

He could almost cry with relief.

“Ready,” he repeats.


End file.
